"Hello? Anybody here?" A man pushed open the frequently painted and now peeling door to the South Side Salvage Yard gate building. The office he entered was no bigger than a one stall garage, and dimly lit, due to the grime on the single window. A desk, piled high with receipts, old phone books, boxes of small metal parts, and a several discarded fast food containers, stood facing the door. Stacks of salvaged car radios, and hub caps circled the perimeter of the room. A single door led to what might be either a closet or a toilet. Looking around the empty office the man called out again, "Anyone here?"

From behind the door a husky arm brought a large lug wrench down on the back of the man's head. He crumpled to the crowded office floor and lay still.

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Looking at her watch one more time, and then glancing up at the clock on her office wall as well, Laura shook her head with frustration and hit the intercom button to speak to Mildred.

"You haven't heard from our illustrious leader by any chance, have you Mildred?" Under her breath Laura continued, "I thought we had made progress on his arriving at the agency before morning coffee break."

"No, Miss Holt, and it's not like him to be late; at least not this late." Mildred sounded concerned. "I've got that file for you with the information on Mr. Steele's eleven o'clock. Why don't I bring you a cup of coffee and you can take a look at the file in case Mr. Steele doesn't get here in time."

"What a good idea, Mildred." Laura's jaw was tight and she kneaded the tension out of her forehead, knowing Mildred really believed Mr. Steele, rather than she, Laura, was prepared for their next client meeting. As Mildred walked in the phone rang, and Mildred moved to answer.

"I'll get it Mildred...Remington Steele Investigations, Laura Holt speaking," barked that personage crisply, pulling the phone away from her ear as Steele barked back.

"I've been waiting outside for the limo for nearly an hour. Really Laura, this is unconscionable. My time is valuable."

"Yes, Sir. Well of course, Sir. I can't imagine what might have happened. Fred has always been completely reliable. Perhaps he's had some car trouble. Can you call for a cab?" Putting her hand over the phone, Laura turned to the agency's dedicated new secretary. "Mildred, will you see if you can reach Fred? Try the limo, and if he doesn't answer there, try his home. Maybe he's ill."

"You got it Miss Holt," Mildred responded, all business as she turned and hustled back to her desk in the reception area.

"Now, Mr. Steele."

"I'm not sure there's any point in my coming in at all now today. Why, half the day is gone already, and my nerves are simply shot. I'm not sure my mood will tolerate any further...."

"MR. STEELE!" Laura cut in finally, "I need you here. Mr. Carlson of the Reef Yacht Club is due at eleven to discuss the vandalism of several of their yachts over the past six months, and he insists on meeting you in person. Gather yourself together and get in here, Fred or no Fred."

"Miss Holt," Mildred burst back through the door just then. "We just got a call from Fred's brother, Mitch. Fred never showed up last night to help with some work he'd offered to do on Mitch's car, and this morning Mitch finally went over to Fred's house to check on him. According to the brother, Fred never came home last night!"